


Courting With Feathers

by spotted_poppy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Medieval
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21998653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spotted_poppy/pseuds/spotted_poppy
Summary: Ever wonder why it took our favorite Ineffable Husbands 6,000 years to realize their love for each other? The answer: it didn't. Hear the unspoken story of Crowley and Aziraphale's first kiss in a rented room after a failed jousting match during the reign of King Arthur, and then find out why it became unspoken. A three part story full of sweetness, pain, redemption, and as much flashy medieval England fun I felt was necessary.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 6





	1. The Unspoken Story

**Author's Note:**

> I must preface this: I apologize for the length. I realized as I was sitting in my bed, pasting this into an eleven-page long google doc that it really should be much shorter than it is. But then I figured it was fitting for these adorable trash boys to have such a long introduction. They are famous for a 6,000 year long slow-burn, after all. So buckle down, snuggle into bed, get yourself some snacks, and enjoy the full ride. I hope with all my heart that it's worth it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Aziraphale quite liked the court of King Arthur. The knights seemed to like him more than the Romans did, and the occupation gave him many grand adventures he didn’t know he wished for. He wouldn’t have become a knight if it wasn’t for days like this: the bustle and merriment of a tournament.

Hooves clopped against the well-worn ground, voices raised and banners flitting in the wind. Lords and ladies and all manner of village folk crowded the stands, all watching and cheering as a procession of horses galloped around the ring, knights on their backs waving and smiling. Aziraphale itched to be down there with them, but he had injured himself a few days prior and had to keep out of the sport to maintain facades and all. Couldn’t have the humans seeing him miracle away ALL his injuries, although some had already begun to wonder why their good Sir Aziraphale kept volunteering for the most dangerous quests and surviving. No matter, they’d never guess the truth.

“Sir Aziraphale, who’s luck are you endorsing on this fine morning?” Aziraphale turned to the gorgeous lady sitting beside him, and at her words her husband, Lord Banebridge looked as well.

“My dearest Lady, I haven’t yet taken my pick. You know they speak of a newcomer! I will not be so hasty as to choose before I see the gentleman.”

At this, the lord seemed puzzled, “Oh Aziraphale, it’s not like you to hold off judgement! You’re usually so quick to size up the opposition, I’d like to think you’ve got a pick already, you’re just disinclined to tell us.”

Aziraphale laughed quietly to himself. He was quite right, Aziraphale was rooting for his friend, Sir Knaleman. He just hadn’t wanted to tell Lord Banebridge on account that his young nephew, Sir Cardwell, was also in the ring. The boy would be no match for Knaleman, or most of the opposition, but Aziraphale did not wish to upset the Lady by saying so.

“Well I do hope, if I am withholding my... judgement, did you call it? That it shall not upset the dear Lady, because I am certainly not sharing it no-“

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. Were his eyes deceiving him? No- there just entering the ring was, in fact, the newcomer: a tall knight dressed in all black riding a black steed. It wouldn’t have been of any particular note if Aziraphale did not know those hands by heart- not even armor could disguise those shoulders, that fluidly, snake-like gait, even in the saddle. And, you know, the crest he carried.

Grinning ear to ear, Aziraphale sat back in his seat, shaking his head incredulously. He should’ve known that beautiful bastard would find his way to the good court of King Arthur eventually, and how fitting as an opposer from a distant land. Certainly, Aziraphale should’ve held off taking sides until he saw the newcomer. The newcomer was his best friend.

“Sir Aziraphale, what, may I ask, has caused you to have such a reaction? You seem to have stars in your eyes.” The Lady inquired.

“Oh! I apologize Madam, I was only surprised. It seems I should have waited to see the newcomer after all.”

“Do you know that gentleman? He is only listed as ‘The Raven Knight,’ if you know him personally do tell us. I am ever so curious to know.”

“Yes, do tell, Sir Aziraphale.” Lord Banebridge piped up, quite interested, although that is to be expected seeing as his nephew is one of the first set to face off against this ‘Raven Knight.’

Aziraphale couldn’t keep himself from laughing just a bit, his cheeks already hurting from smiling so widely. ‘The Raven Knight,’ he thinks he’s so clever. “Oh no, good Sir. I have simply... seen him around.”

“Around where?” The Lady asked, with much exasperation. They were both eager to see what they’re up against. Too bad they’re up against the best.

Trumpets sounded as the last of the mounted Knights filed into a line, all facing the stands full of roaring crowds. “Hush now, my dear. The tournament is about to begin!”

The Lady shook her head, seeing that she could not get the information she seeks from Aziraphale. He suspected he’d hear about it again later, but didn’t much care. Now was time for the tournament!

He watched as the black-clad knight waved a hand regally, clearly scanning the crowd. Aziraphale caught the exact moment when the knight spotted him, and the slight tilt of his armored head caused Aziraphale’s smile to double. He waved a little gloved hand back, just enough to give his bashful greetings. The Raven Knight broke his regal facade to put his hands on his hips and shake his head scoldingly towards Aziraphale. It made his cheeks heat up embarrassingly.

“You DO know this man, Sir Aziraphale! Why, you’re practically flirting with him from across the ring like a lady!” Madam Banebridge said, rapping him across the arm with her handkerchief.

Aziraphale scoffed and shifted in his seat, brushing gloved hands over his pristine suit in an attempt to regain some composure. “Why, I certainly am not. Scandalous thing to insinuate, a knight flirting with a knight like a lady. I am not inclined to such blatant atrocities. You are mistaken.”

“Well then you are still a scoundrel, Sir Aziraphale! You clearly know the man and you are even now trying to steer me away from the information I seek! Tell me at once where he comes from and at what honor does he fight?”

Seeing that he could evade no longer, and watching the knight ride off with the rest of the procession, Aziraphale obliged. “As for whence he came, I haven’t the faintest clue my dear. But at what honor does he fight? By his own honor, and well. I have never faced a more worthy foe. Your nephew would do well to watch his back, but don’t be afraid, this Raven Knight is a man of the highest chivalry. Don’t listen to him if he tries to tell you otherwise.”

“Why, in the Lord’s good name, would he try to tell us otherwise?” The Lady asked, shaking her head in confusion.

Aziraphale snickered. “That, my dear, is something you may never know. Let’s just say he is much more of a scoundrel than I.”

The Lady scoffed, turning to her husband to share a look of disbelief at Aziraphale’s actions. They were forced to leave the issue, however, as a man standing on the inside of the ring at that moment stepped forward to announce the first contestants. It was going to be two mediocre (by Aziraphale’s standards) knights that he didn’t know personally, so he wasn’t too nervous for the battle. He was, however, very excited to see the festivities begin.

It was nigh on an hour or so of clashing and cheering and the glinting of armor in the sun before the real threat entered the ring. Young Sir Cardwell had done well so far, beating a similarly matched young warrior from the neighboring kingdom a few rounds prior, and was regrettably the first up to face the Raven Knight. Aziraphale beamed as his friend’s pseudonym was announced and craned his neck in hopes to get the first glimpse of him. Lady Banebridge glanced his way, raising an eyebrow at his excitement, but didn’t comment, for which Aziraphale was grateful. He didn’t think he could hide his elation if he tried.

A small gasp escaped his lips as the head of a tall black steed entered through the decorated archway. The Raven Knight trotted in with much cheering from the crowd, even if no one knew him, they were still excited for the fight. Aziraphale clapped his hands giddily, barely able to contain his excitement.

“May I present, Sir Gaden Cardwell facing off against The Raven Knight!” The announcer called, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

The competitors trotted in a circle inside of the ring, passing by the rows of people on the way. Aziraphale’s pulse picked up as he impatiently waited for the tall, black-clad warrior to follow Sir Cardwell around the ring towards him. Finally, the knight approached him, and looking up through his thick metal visor, he stayed his steed to hold up a minute. Aziraphale smirked, wondering what the demon was up to as his black horse clipped to a stop right in front of him.

Even though he was a few feet up from where Crowley sat on his horse, Aziraphale could practically feel the wind as the black knight pulled off his helmet, letting long fire-truck-red hair fly.

The Lady gasped from beside him, and turned to Aziraphale, “why, he has yellow eyes! With pupils like a snake’s! What are you, Knight?”

“Nothing worthy of the lovely likes of you, My Lady.” Crowley said, rather smoothly if Aziraphale could say himself. Crowley bowed best he could while on his horse.

“It is merely a nifty trick, Lady Banebridge. Do not be alarmed.” Aziraphale added, grinning at both of them in turn.

“Yes, indeed. I am full of nifty little tri-“ Crowley was cut off by the call of the announcer, telling him there isn’t much time before the bout will begin. “Oh, I’d love to exchange pleasantries with you Madame, but I don’t have much time and there is a reason I came over here. I got you something, Dear Aziraphale. It has been ever so long since our paths have crossed.”

Aziraphale gasped. “You did? Why Crowley-“

“Oh, don’t mention it.” Crowley shuffled through a pouch on the back of his horse, pulling out a pristine crimson rose. “I do hope I have your support, Sir Aziraphale. You know I fight for you.”

The earnest look in the demon’s radiant eyes as he presented the gift was almost enough to move Aziraphale to tears. He took the rose delicately, hesitant to even hold it too firmly in the chance that he might damage the almost unreal gift. Clutching it gently to his chest, Aziraphale smiled down towards his demon with all of the love and thankfulness flooding his heart.

“Thank you, Crowley,” He whispered.

“I said don’t mention it, Angel. Just - watch the fight now won’t you? It’s going to be such fun!” Crowley tried so hard to stop looking and sounding so flustered, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the slight blush to his cheeks as he trotted off towards the starting places.

“Stay safe, dear!” Aziraphale called after him. He didn’t think Crowley heard him, but the Lady certainly did.

“Why, the nerve!” She exclaimed, sharing the disbelieving expressions of the nearest twelve or so bystanders, “What a scandal! I have never seen such a feat- a nameless foreign knight who just so happens to be known by our own Sir Aziraphale- and instead of presenting himself as a foe, gifts him with a rose! What an occurrence!”

“W-well I-“

“Flirting like a lady, indeed! And here you are, still clutching the disastrous rose. Well if I didn't know better, I’d say you two-“

“Hush, my dear, the bout is about to begin.” Her husband said, much to Aziraphale’s relief. If he attracted much more attention, it might become a problem with the higher-ups. He couldn’t imagine the implications if the angels found he was being - well, he assumed he could almost call it.... courted- by a demon. Just the amount of paperwork involved was enough to bring Aziraphale to his knees!

The contestants faced each other on either sides of the ring, shuffling and arranging their armor as their steeds paced impatiently under them. Crowley was eying Sir Cardwell suspiciously, sizing him up. Cardwell looked very confident in his green and brown armor, sandy blond hair still shining in the noon-day light. He looked downright regal, the lord and lady should be proud. They each had an assistant handing them equipment, Crowley’s looking like a ratty twelve year old that he picked up off the street (Aziraphale wouldn’t be surprised if he had). Before long, both parties were prepared, holding long jousting lances and wearing helmets proudly.

The announcer called places, causing Aziraphale and the proud uncle and aunt beside him to scoot to the edges of their seats. He could feel his pulse pick up and tension rise in his chest, even though Aziraphale was entirely confident in Crowley’s skill. He had fought the demon himself, once. It was a satisfying, if short-lived match. Neither won, they just simply stopped fighting. Decided a banquet was much more fun and civil for two knights to work out their differences at.

“Begin!” The announcer shouted, and Aziraphale clutched the rose to his chest as the horses began to gallop.

Badump, badump, badump, CRASH! The first hit was Crowley’s, a solid strike to the middle of the boy’s shield. No doubt exactly where he was aiming. Cardwell held his ground, however, a bit shaken but alright.

Badump, badump, badump, WHOOSH! Sir Cardwell dodged the second strike, and the crowds shouted disapprovingly. The lady rested a hand to her quickly rising chest, nerves obviously tested. Aziraphale watched Crowley’s face earnestly, cursing the helmet obstructing his view.

Badump, badump, badump, CRASH! Aziraphale gasped out loud, Sir Cardwell had gotten in a hit! His lance had struck the inside edge of Crowley’s shield, causing it to glance off the side and pierce through the chain mail on his lance arm shoulder. Crowley shouted in pain, clutching the wound. The crowd roared around Aziraphale, who had to keep himself from running out into the ring to protect his injured friend. Crowley’s obvious pain physically hurt Aziraphale to watch. He rubbed nervous fingers up and down the stem of his rose. The match wasn’t over yet.

Badump, badump, badump, CRASH! Another hit! Aziraphale cried out as Crowley’s black lance crashed to the ground, easily knocked out of his injured grip. He didn’t seem to be injured anywhere else, but the impact on his arm made him shout again. Aziraphale felt like he’d been the one to get hit, the match was nearly over now, and the crowd knew it. They cheered the young boy on, urging him to finish it.

Aziraphale couldn’t watch, he squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his chin down towards his chest, the soft petals of the rose tickling his nose. *badump, badump, badump, CRASH!* He knew before he looked up that Crowley was on the ground, knocked off his horse by a clean blow to the shield. The young Sir Cardwell had done splendidly, and the crowd shouted its approval around Aziraphale. Slowly opening his eyes, he felt a twang of dread as he saw his friend covered in dust, chasing after his horse and clutching his wounded arm, shield halfway across the ring. Sir Cardwell pulled off his helmet and waved to the crowd, beaming ear to ear.

“How’s that for ‘very well,’ Sir Aziraphale? Your mysterious friend barely survived the match!” Lady Banebridge exclaimed, sounding very much relieved.

Aziraphale straightened his coat, sitting up and trying his best to shake off the sour feeling in his stomach. “You should be very proud of your nephew, Lady Banebridge. He did quite splendidly.”

“Haha, that’s my boy!” Lord Banebridge shouted more towards Cardwell than towards them, looking happier than Aziraphale had seen him in a while.

Coughing awkwardly, Aziraphale stood. “P-please excuse me Madame. I have some business to attend to.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but he didn’t give her any time to try and stop him. She called after him, “this business doesn’t have to do with your mysterious knight now, does it? Be careful, you might start quite a scandal, vouching for such a weak warrior, Aziraphale!”

He didn’t answer, merely shoving his way through the crowd, still holding the rose to his chest as not to crush or lose it. It wasn’t very long before he was making his way behind the stands, trying to look important and intentional, like he knew what he was doing and was meant to be there. He started out walking slowly, but couldn’t help but pick up the pace as he got closer and closer to the stone wall marking the outside of where all the contestants were being kept. Crowley would no doubt be inside by now, probably dressing his wound. Aziraphale only hoped he actually went to the sick bay instead of sneaking up to his room, but unfortunately he knew his friend well enough to assume he certainly did not.

His shoes clipping against the white brick floor was the only sound in the long hallway to the residence hall. Aziraphale walked fast, but it wasn’t fast enough to keep the worry away. He knew they were supernatural beings, mostly unaffected by human injury, but he still didn’t like the idea of Crowley being hurt. They were on opposite sides, yes, but lately they had become... well, friends. Close friends. Maybe... more than friends? I mean, do friends give friends roses before a knightly tournament match? Aziraphale didn’t quite know anymore. Was it even possible for an angel and a demon to be more than friends? If anyone was to find out, it would be them he supposed. He probably wouldn’t mind. Finding out.

He shoved all though of ‘finding out’ from his mind as signs started appearing on the doors to his right and left, showing names of contestants. Aziraphale passed Sir Cardwell’s and his friend’s, Sir Knaleman. It took almost to the very end of the hall to find the room marked “Raven Knight.” Well, it seemed Crowley had wanted to go with total secrecy concerning his identity. He wondered why.

Aziraphale paused outside the thick wooden door. He still held the rose Crowley had given him in his left hand, his right poised to knock. What was he even doing here? Would Crowley... appreciate him showing up after such a loss? He didn’t quite want to find out. But... Aziraphale had made it there, to his room. and the demon was his friend, after all, so... it couldn’t hurt. Probably.

Aziraphale rapped a few times on the door, quick and succinct. He always felt a good knock was the sign of a good gentleman. Hearing some sort of unintelligible reply from inside, he slowly pushed the door open.

“Oh, Samuel you prick! Where have you been I TOLD you I needed something to- oh, Aziraphale!” Crowley jumped when he saw Aziraphale in his doorway, he had clearly expected to see his servant boy.

Aziraphale blushed and darted his gaze towards his shoes. Crowley was seated on his bed, shirtless and holding a damp towel to his arm. There was a small table to Aziraphale’s right, and a chest at the end of the bed, but other than that it was a pretty plain room. He figured the contestants didn’t need much furnishing, as they were all knights. Most were fairly scrappy.

“Well hello... dear boy. May I come in?” Aziraphale asked, trying his best not to sound timid.

“Um, yeah... of course. W-what are you doing here?” Crowley looked urgently around the room, probably searching for a shirt. Aziraphale spotted it slung over the back of a chair by the table, far out of his reach.

“I came to make sure you were alright. You took quite a beating.” Aziraphale placed his rose on the table, coming over to sit beside his friend on the bed. “Here, let me see.”

He could hear Crowley’s breath as he tugged off his gloves, taking the cloth from Crowley’s hand and lifting it gently. The wound was red and raw, fairly wide but not too deep. The lance had hit towards the edge and glanced off, leaving most of his shoulder scrapped instead of punctured. Good, it wouldn’t require stitches that way.

“Ooh, looks painful. I’d assume you’re going to keep it for a while, instead of miracling it away?” Aziraphale asked, frowning as he saw the other bruises lining his friend’s pale chest and arms.

“Yeah, I’ve got at least a few friends here who’d notice if the consequences of my embarrassing defeat suddenly disappeared.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, choosing instead to gently dab at the wound in an effort to clean it a little. It probably required a clean rag, but luckily Aziraphale was an angel. He miracled up a bandage and pristine white wash towel, slightly damp with cold clean water.

“This might hurt a bit, but it’ll help it heal properly.” Crowley winced as Aziraphale pressed the clean rag to the wound.

“Why are you doing this? You know I have a servant boy to take care of my injuries.”

Aziraphale glanced around the room. “Well, I don’t see him, do you?”

Crowley smiled, which made Aziraphale smile as well, “Well no, I don’t suppose I do.”

His face quickly scrunched into a wince as the angel started rubbing the rag over his cut to clean it. The atmosphere in the room was so calm, it took them a minute or two to get up the urge to continue conversation.

“Crowley, thank you. For the gift you gave me, earlier. Really I... quite liked it.”

“You did?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale answered, almost too quickly. He finished cleaning the wound and turned to his role of bandages. “The lady I was speaking to... well, she thought it seemed almost... romantic, you could say.”

Crowley opened his mouth in surprise, a bit of a blush creeping over his cheeks. You could always tell when he’s blushing because the slightest of heat always bloomed bright on his pale skin. Aziraphale found it quite cute, really.

“And... would you say so? That it was romantic?”

Aziraphale paused, attempting to choose his words carefully. “Uh, well... I would... quite like to assume it to be.” He felt heat rise to his own cheeks. “But I can’t of course assume the true intent by which it was given.”

There was a very tense pause, Aziraphale staring intently at the arm he was wrapping instead of at Crowley’s face. “Well... it was a gift from a knight. To someone he... uh.... admires very much. So, in all... proper interpretations of the gesture...”

Aziraphale looked up. “Crowley, are you saying you meant it to be romantic? For me?”

The demon backed away a little bit, cheeks bright red and slit pupils contracting, “Oh well um, if you don’t want it to be that way, then-“

“No I’d love it to be that way!” Aziraphale practically shouted it, grabbing his arm just below the wound accidentally, making Crowley wince. “Oh I’m so sorry my dear, here just let me-“

“No no no, it’s ok I’m fine Aziraphale.” He grabbed the angel’s hand by the wrist, causing both parties to stop in their tracks. “You, uh, you... don’t have to.”

Pausing, looking down hesitantly, Aziraphale whispered the words. “But I want to. Help you, that is. Because I... well if I’m being honest, I really care about you, Crowley.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale was a little offended by the words. He looked up fiercely and found himself almost nose-to-nose with the demon. He gently, tenderly shifted Crowley’s hand from around his wrist so that his long fingers were cradled softly in Aziraphale’s.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed the name against the angel’s cheek, sending shivers up his spine and heat to his face. 

His eyes were wide, glistening like a child’s, flitting back and forth, searching Aziraphale’s gaze hesitantly, like he couldn’t quite believe someone would care about him. Aziraphale’s chest ached inexplicably. The thought that this beautiful man before him with such perfect features, who had saved him countless times, treated him to dinner, comforted him and fought with him and talked to him, might have the nerve to think there was even a chance he wasn’t cared about hurt Aziraphale more than words can describe. He gripped the demon’s hand in his own, leaning up so there was only a sliver of space between them, begging him to feel the fierce protective love blooming in his chest.

“Crowley.” He said it matter-of-factly, like a vow. Like an oath. Like law. “I am entirely in love with you.”

Crowley sucked in a breath, making it impossible for Aziraphale to look anywhere other than his lips. For a split second he thought maybe Crowley would reject him, tell him to get away from him, tell him they would never be anything but enemies. But then it was the flutter of fingertips under his chin, guiding him to those beautiful lips, and everything was absolutely unbelievably perfect.

Aziraphale couldn’t imagine anything more wonderfully colorful- beautiful- indescribable! As the feeling of Crowley’s lips pressed to his, his hand under his chin, hand pressed to his chest. He felt Crowley melt into him, grasping at the side of his face with those long, beautiful fingers of his. Aziraphale melted back, reaching up to hug him, hold him- cling to the wonderfully warm, bare chest before him- the spectacular beautiful demon who he never thought he’d get the chance to kiss like this. Kiss and kiss and oh by the Lord’s good name, he was never going to stop kissing him.

A small whine escaped Crowley’s lips, even as they were pressed feverishly to Aziraphale’s, and it absolutely broke something inside the angel. Before he could stop himself, Aziraphale lurched up and swung a leg across Crowley so he was sitting directly in his lap, grabbing him by both sides of his face and kissing him furiously. He shivered as he felt hands by his spine, holding him so firmly and confidently, clutching him closer. He could feel the slight desperation in his demon’s movements, felt the warm sting of being truly wanted. Needed, craved. And Aziraphale kissed him ruthlessly, recklessly. Demanding him to erase every thought of rejection, every whisper that told him he wasn’t enough, didn’t deserve this.

Aziraphale drew the whimpers from Crowley’s red lips, pulling back just long enough to catch a breath and look into his eyes. “Crowley, look at me.”

He did, looking dazed and lovesick and hungry. His eyes looked golden this close up, glistening so brightly it was almost blinding. Aziraphale brushed a hand over his forehead, fingering the soft strands of his shoulder-length red hair. It was just a bit wavy these days, and Aziraphale quite liked it. Crowley melted into the touch, smiling as the angel cradled the side of his face, warm and flushed and soft.

“Of course I care about you. I am absolutely, entirely, in love with you to the very core of my being. I think... I have been, for a very long time, and you are the best thing to ever happen to me. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, dove,” he breathed, looking like a child, full of wonder and adoration.

“Don’t ever, ever doubt your place in my heart. Or your worth, or your ability to love, because I see all of it in your eyes right now.” He kissed Crowley softly on the forehead, basking in the ability to show him such affection. “I love you.”

“Aziraphale,” he sighed, smiling like the sun. “Angel, my angel.”

Aziraphale kissed him firmly on the cheek, then on the corner of his jaw, then just below his ear. He reveled in the small noises Crowley made, kissing him harder and more fiercely. He planted kiss after kiss in a sloppy line down the ridges on his neck, savoring the feeling of Crowley’s hand in his hair, urging him on. Three thousand years it took them to do this. Aziraphale wouldn’t wait a moment longer. He didn’t think, didn’t wonder, didn’t ask himself if he should be going this fast after so long of waiting- he just kissed him like the world was ending, kissed him like the sun wouldn’t rise tomorrow. Because this beautiful man in his arms was his entire world and eternity over. Later he would ask himself the questions, see that he had felt this way all along- but right then Crowley was wrapping both arms around him and lifting him swiftly, plunking him right down on that unused bed and hovering above him with the look of someone in love. With a look that felt so right. 

“Crowley, my love.” He said it warmly, even though it didn’t need to be said, just because he wanted to say it, punctuated by a soft hand pressed gently to the demon’s face. 

Aziraphale felt rather than saw as a shiver shook itself through Crowley’s body, starting small at the top of his head and shaking his shoulders violently as it went down. Suddenly a fwoosh sound was heard, and two gigantic black feathered wings shot out of Crowley’s back. His eyes widened in surprise as they fanned out above him, spanning most of the length of the room and sending a rain of feathers falling like snow all around them. 

“Oh! Dear,” Aziraphale couldn’t keep himself from laughing, giggling as a few stray feathers landed on his forehead. Crowley laughed as well, his wings shaking and ears turning an even brighter shade of pink.

“Well, they did say it was linked to emotion, huh?” Crowley said between laughter. 

“They most certainly did, love.” Aziraphale could’ve sworn he heard some strange sound just then, but was too caught up in the smile on his demon’s face and the warmth of his breath to really place it or care enough to figure out where it was coming from. 

It took them a few minutes, but once the pair had calmed their laughing, they found themselves just looking tenderly into each other’s eyes, loving the warmth of their smiles, the soft touch of their hands. They felt and saw and reveled in every breath, every second they spent just being together. It was like two galaxies colliding- their entire worlds being sucked into and wrapped around each other until the only thing that mattered or existed was this, now, them. 

It was hours before Aziraphale got up the courage to leave, kissing Crowley goodnight as the sun was setting outside his window. He picked the rose up off the table on his way out, smiling warm with the memory of every touch still simmering just under his skin. 

“I love you,” he said as he went to close the door, reminding him one last time.

“I love you too, Aziraphale,” It was the first time in a while he didn’t whisper, didn’t slur. And Aziraphale saw in the way he looked at him that he really meant it. 

It would’ve been a long, cold, boring walk back to his room on any normal day, but Aziraphale barely made it to the end of the hallway before he turned a corner and was suddenly face to face with three familiar white-clad figures. A feeling of intense dread washed over him, banishing every hint of warmth. 

Trying his best to steady his nerves, begging his heart to quit beating so fast, he slowly straightened himself up so he was standing firmly before the angels. It was too late when he realized he was still holding the rose Crowley had given him. 

Gabriel looked once at Aziraphale’s face, once at his hand, and then smiled. “Hello, Aziraphale.”

He gulped.


	2. Why it Became Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> I promise I'll stop with the crippling depression in part three. 
> 
> Get yourself some tissues and some hot chocolate, thank you immensely for still reading my crap.
> 
> :)

Aziraphale quite liked the court of King Arthur, and quite liked the small castle that housed the knights who were his friends, his love. But even such a beautiful place had rooms that were dark, cold, and unfriendly. The particular room Gabriel had led him to was an abandoned cellar, long-empty barrels lining the corners, a dank, musty smell in the air and the haunting light of a single lit torch to his right. The only furniture was the splintery wooden chair Aziraphale found himself seated in, which Gabriel had (quite dramatically, if he was being frank) placed directly in the center of the room. The angel in question was standing in front of him, alone now, towering threateningly, obnoxious purple eyes almost giving off a light of their own. 

“Well. Aziraphale.” He always did like to take his time. 

A crap eye color, purple. Really, it seemed quite off-putting when anyone first meets him. Must be terrible hard trying to pass as a human. Must be why he spends so much time upstairs. 

“Would you like to explain yourself?” Gabriel held Crowley’s rose up, shaking it almost scoldingly towards Aziraphale. 

He stifled an angry huff. Or gesture. “I already told you, it was a gift from the Lady Banebridge. I aided her nephew’s victory in the tournament and she gave it to me as a thank you.”

“And I,” he smiled that soulless smile of his, mid-sentence, “was told by a trusted source that a strapping young knight gave it to you. A demon, in fact.” 

“Well whoever this ‘trusted source’ of yours is, they should really double check their information.” 

“It was the demon Beelzebub, actually.” He said it like it was an accomplishment, which just made Aziraphale want to roll his eyes. “Been in town to check up on Crowley, in fact, and was just in time to see him very affectionately give this to you. It was quite a shock to both of us, let me tell you!”

“Well I don’t see why a demon attempting to court me would be my fault in the slightest. It was of his own free will, maybe you should interrogate him, huh?” Aziraphale wouldn’t ever let that happen, but it was easy enough to put up an air of disdain in the current situation.

“Oh, courting! Is that what you’re calling it?” A purple glint, almost sinister. “Well then what would you call the -compromising- things I found you two doing when I went up to his room just a few hours ago?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up, eyes widening before he could even think to keep his composure. He practically choked. “That- that’s not-” 

“Not what I think it is? Oh I think it was.” Smiling, Gabriel slowly pulled a single black feather out of his coat pocket. “Quite foolish of you, Aziraphale. Almost - certainly - sinful.” 

“I- he-” Aziraphale felt his voice failing him, his heart beginning to pound. 

“Courting with feathers now are we?” Gabriel twirled the feather around in his hand, grinning wider as Aziraphale failed to disguise the fury building in his chest. “Mm, just wait until the higher-ups hear about this. Maybe they’ll kick you out, then you can finally join your precious boyfriend in Hell.”

No words came to Aziraphale’s aid, no words would work well anyway. Just a boiling, restless, overwhelming rage. He hoped Gabriel could feel the fire in his eyes. 

“Courting with feathers, ha! What a quaint title for such deception. What, you really thought your little ‘I love you’s meant anything to him? Oh no, he’s most certainly faking. He is a demon, after all.”

“That’s not true! He- we-” 

“You what? Oh no, there’s nothing a demon won’t do to sell a lie. Whatever proof you think you have of his affection is obviously a trick to lull you into submission - just a ruse to bait you into his trap. Demons can’t love, surely you know that. They just lie, and cheat, and-”

“No! None of that is true and if you say one more word about him I’ll-” 

“Oh? You’re angry- well.” Chuckling darkly, the angel stepped straight into Aziraphale’s personal space, dropping the rose on the floor behind him and waving the feather tauntingly in his face. “Go ahead- do your best, little principality. Just know that whatever you do to me I’ll do to him ten-fold. With pleasure.” 

The words struck Aziraphale with the brute force of a brick wall. He gasped, fingernails digging into splintered armrests. He could feel Gabriel’s breath, they were so threateningly close, the feather between them just barely still smelling of Crowley. The whisper of a scent wrenched tears to Aziraphale’s eyes. How dare he.

“That’s right, be afraid. Even if Crowley’s love is just a clever trick, he certainly has done it well! Why, if I wasn’t so wise, I’d say you really love him. Smart of him to choose such weak prey. So if you actually care about that demon, I’d listen closely.” Gabriel leaned even closer, spitting in his face. “With just so much as a word I can get you and that disgusting creature absolutely destroyed. Beyond discorporation- beyond even damnation- I can send both of you revolting travesties somewhere not even an angel can find you. And I will. Unless…”

Aziraphale hung his head, scrunching his eyes shut as more and more tears pooled in them. Every molecule in his body was shaking with the excruciating pain of holding still in the face of such brutality. He didn’t ever dare to think an angel could be so… wicked. 

The bastard was still smiling, the whites of his teeth taking up a good portion of Aziraphale’s line of vision, the other portion consumed by burning purple eyes. “If you do exactly as I say, we can forget this entire mess and you’ll be free to chase after whatever lying, cheating spawn of Hell you want to give your pathetic heart to. What do you say?” 

Aziraphale choked out a couple breaths, hating himself for the wet sobs that came with them. Hating Gabriel, hating the cold, disgusting room he was trapped in - hating Heaven and Hell for not being strong enough to keep him from this wretched situation. None of this should be happening, if he had just never taken that rose- maybe never even met Crowley in the first place- then his safety never would be used as leverage to ensure Aziraphale’s heavenly cooperation. If this is the kind of angel Heaven spawned, then God damn it all! 

“Hm? I didn’t catch that. I’ll ask you again, would you like to obey my every whim for as long as this foul Earth still turns, or would you like me to personally rip that demon’s vile, slimy heart out of his still-beating chest? Your choice.” 

Hopelessness weighed down on Aziraphale, smelling like the black, damp air around him. “F-fine. I’ll do what you say.” 

Gabriel grinned at the guttural growl that came with the words, the tears soaking his flushed cheeks. “Oh, you will? How kind of you. I do think we’ll benefit greatly from this - arrangement - in the future.” He backed away suddenly, standing up straight and turning towards the door with not a care in the world, still fingering the black feather. 

“Y-you’re not going to… tell me to do something?” Aziraphale asked between residual chokes and sobs.

“Oh no, I’ll save that for later. For now, though… you might want to steer clear of that demon for a while. If I ever catch you doing something like that again, I will not hesitate.” 

A twang of fear reignited in Aziraphale’s gut. He stifled it, trying his best to be logical. “He- he won’t want to go away after- well… he might follow me. I- he- loves me.” 

“Mhm, well then you’ll just have to tell him the truth.” Gabriel took a step back towards Aziraphale, smashing the rose still on the ground.

“A-and what is that?” He stared at where the precious rose disappeared under his leather boot in horror.

“That you’re hereditary enemies! That you’re an angel and he’s a demon and you can never truly love him. That oughta put him off a little bit, don’t you think?” 

The look of horror shifted from Gabriel’s boot to his still-smiling face. 

“Now, farewell, good ‘Knight of the Round Table,’ gee, what kind of a table is round? Crap invention, I must say. Anyway, you’ll be hearing from me soon.” 

With a grin and a flick of his hand, Gabriel marched out of the damp prison and out of sight, leaving Aziraphale alone with a smashed rose and a black feather gently floating to the ground beside it. 

It took him a few heaving breaths before he had the strength in him to move, shuddering violently as he collapsed to his knees. He grasped desperately, clutching the feather in one hand and watching as the remains of the rose crumbled silently in the other. Gasping, sobbing, he abandoned the crushed petals and pressed the delicate feather to his cheek, the river of tears dampening its precious soft edges. He wished desperately for just a hint of the scent that had wafted around him earlier, but it was long gone, snuffed out by the groping of Gabriel’s hand and the fluids clogging Aziraphale’s nose. 

He stayed there, trembling on the damp concrete floor for god knows how long. The words Gabriel said stuck ruthlessly in his head, repeating themselves over and over. All he could think was how terribly, horrifically worthless his existence would be if Crowley wasn’t there. How wholly he would hate himself if Gabriel so much as touched him. 

So… even if it meant lying to him…. Aziraphale would keep him safe.

… 

He was almost out of Camelot, the sun setting at his back, the wind in his hair as he rode astride his steed. The good Knights had given him a fine farewell the night before, although a short-lived one as it was such short notice. He was deeply grateful for their tender well-wishes. But oh, none of it mattered just then, as all he could think about was how betrayed Crowley would feel in the morning. He hadn’t been invited to the farewell party, Aziraphale had made it small specifically for that purpose. They hadn’t seen each other since Gabriel had caught them in Crowley’s room. Aziraphale had never been so happy to live apart from the rest of the knights, it made avoiding him infinitely easier. Crowley could always find him, if he really wanted to. 

“Hey, who’s that knight riding valiantly into the sunset? Is that you, Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, resisting the urge to tell his horse to start running. Speaking of… “Oh, Crowley, yes hello…” 

It took a few seconds for Crowley’s tall black steed to catch up to his. He had wished with all his heart that Crowley would just forget he existed - that he’d just let him run away and Aziraphale would never have to obey Gabriel’s awful orders. He felt the beginning of tears start to come to his eyes at the thought of what he’d have to do.

“Aziraphale! Where are you going? I heard- hey, are you alright?” 

It only took Aziraphale one glance towards his beautiful, gentle-eyed demon to feel like the world was crumbling beneath him. He averted his gaze. “Yes, I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look fine, what happened? Was it something I did? Was it something from the other day - oh whatever I did please tell me I’ll fix it I’ll-”

“No! No it’s…” Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to deny it. He was supposed to let him think- let him leave- “It’s… nothing. I just… have to go.”

Then was when he was supposed to tell his horse to ride, let himself travel steadily and permanently away from the fumbling red-headed man beside him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Aziraphale, you can-”

“Tell you what’s going on? No, I can’t I just-” He surprised himself with the outburst, anguish evident in his voice. “Let’s just… forget the whole thing, can we? Just pretend like none of this ever happened.” 

He couldn’t bear to look up and see the pain in Crowley’s eyes, but he couldn’t avoid hearing it in his voice. “‘All of this’ as in, what happened between us?”

“Y-yes.” It absolutely shattered his heart. “Let’s just… not talk about it anymore. Ever. Please.”

“O-ok.” The smallness of Crowley’s voice singed his ears and brought tears to his eyes. “I’m sorry-”

“No! Don’t- it’s not- just. Do this for me, please. I have to go and… we can’t talk about this. Please, if you’d ever do anything kind for me then-”

“Of course I would, anything.”

“Ok, well then, goodbye Crowley.” Aziraphale looked up, like he told himself he wouldn’t, and found twin silent trails of tears down Crowley’s pale cheeks. “I-”

“Don’t, just… go.” The tears finally got to Crowley’s voice. He brushed some of them off of his face, all of his beautiful features scrunching up.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, anything, but found himself trapped between the look on his love’s face and the threat still lingering in the back of his mind. There was nothing - could never be anything - to say that would make it better. He was on Gabriel’s side now.

So he looked down at his horse’s white mane and his gloved hands, and gently urged the steed to ride. Slowly, solemnly, Crowley’s quiet sobs the only sound to mark everything he was leaving behind. Tears worked their way down his cheeks to match.

And as he gazed down the path, each trot dragging him father and farther away from the things he loved most, he didn’t dare to look back. He reached into his pocket and fingered the single black feather he knew he’d keep for a milenia to come. He couldn’t look back.

If he did, he’d never leave.

He told himself he’d protect Crowley, even if it meant leaving him behind.


End file.
